The Life and Lies of a Hobbit
by SphinxyWilliams15
Summary: My name is Elanor Gamgee and I'm the daughter of Sam-Wise Gamgee. I live a normal life in the Shire, well, mostly…
1. Elanor Gamgee

**A/N**

**Hey to all those reading this!**

**So, this is the new and improved first chapter of the Life and Lies of a Hobbit. I hope you enjoy this longer, better written story, and I hope to make my updates speedy. **

**Anyway, happy new year to you all and I hope you enjoy!  
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**Thanks**

**Sphinxy**

Chapter 1

Elanor Gamgee

I am a hobbit.

I live in the Shire, my name is Elanor and am the daughter of the great hero, Sam-Wise Gamgee.  
>Well, ok, so my dad wasn't the <em>actua<em>l hero of the Shire, but his best friend was, although, I've never actually met him, and it's probably more of a _was_ now anyway. My dad told me he was a brave hobbit, always eager for adventure, but that's what his probable downfall was. He refuses to believe it though, my dad, he says it's 'Not possible for Mr Frodo to be gone, well, not _that_ gone anyway'. He spends most of his time at the Green Dragon pub now, but, not getting drunk, oh no, he simply likes listening to the stories they tell, just like you may like listening to the 'latest gossip', or so my mum says, although, she stopped working there years ago. Instead, she owns her own stall in the local market. Her stock varies from time to time, dependant on the season. In spring, she usually has a stunning array of flowers on display, summer it's mainly fruit. Autumn it's seasonal veg and winter she sells as much meat as she can, ranging from lamb to poultry and even fish. She tells me she hears the odd bit of talk from the many customers that stop by, but there's nothing much to tell now, only that the turnip sizes are shrinking, or carrots are getting fewer each day. It's become quite quiet around the Shire lately, well, I suppose it always kind of was, but, well, my dad says that after the big commotion and Frodo leaving and all, everything's sort of _died down_. Nothing much is or _has, _or _will_ happen since Frodo's departure.

Anyway…

I am 35 years old (around 14 in human years) and attend the Shire County High School, which is just an old barn converted and extended to account for around 400 students. There's even the occasion Bree traveller drop by for the odd lecture, but things have been different lately. Very different…

~x~

"Come on Louise!" I call "We're going to be late!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Is the answering shout

Louise is my best friend and I call round her house every day before we walk to school. Our friendship was formed in a way you wouldn't really expect. Apart from the fact our fathers knew each other; we were like total strangers until I saw her on her own. Well, I _thought_ she was on her own. Turns out she was surrounded by a group of people, and they were all shouting and laughing. I thought they were just having a bit of fun, but it turns out, _Louise_ wasn't. She was once again being bullied by a bunch of older Hobbits, about, well, about just around everything in her life. Shimmering tears streaked her face as she crouched, cowering from the seemingly endless torrent of insults and taunts. Her whole body was trembling with fear. That was, until, I stepped in with a shout and lifted high my father's old book, the one he wasn't quite finished writing. There, on the front of the cover, inked into the delicate leather, was the eye of Sauron, a symbol all Hobbits have learnt to fear, since the destruction of the ring. There was a chorus of hisses and screams as the group scattered into the forest, taking their hatred with them. After that, Louise and I became the best of friends.

I sigh and check the old oaken grandfather clock, standing tall in the hallway. As usual, Louise is still trying to get herself ready, even though we should have left 5 minutes ago. There is a loud bang, followed by a stream of unladylike curses. Louise suddenly appears at the top of the stairs and sprints down them at break-neck speed. She swings her bag over her shoulder and calls to her mum.

"The shelf's collapsed again!"

I hear her mother sigh, before the clatter of china rings out. She must be washing up after breakfast.

"Right," She calls, halting in her work.

"I'm off now mum, see you later!" Louise tells her.

"Bye!" She replies, before the door slams, signalling our departure.

We leave the house and start down the old dirt track. It's been years since Frodo returned and left once more, yet we hobbits like to stick to our traditions. In fact, the only thing that has altered slightly is our dialect. It's not changed greatly, but it's changed all the same.

"I wonder who our new History teacher will be!" Louise says breaking the silence, even though we're nearly at the school gate. History is Louise's favourite subject, because she just loves finding out about our ancestors and how they lived before the Shire became, well, _the Shire_.

Louise's family is considered odd compared to most hobbits, mainly because of their home. Rather than the average one-floor hobbit hole, she has a two story house. It's still nestled snuggly inside a hill, but even the smallest of differences in our culture are unheard of. Louise's father (Perigrin Took), liked being high up off the ground so much (Following his brief stay at the Prancing Pony Inn), he decided to build his house with a second story, so that he could sit upstairs and enjoy the view.

"I'm not sure," I state, turning back to the eager Hobbit skipping along beside me. When I look up, I see we've reached the school gate. But something's not right. I feel a strange prickling sensation on the back of my neck and turn around. There is no one behind me apart from a group of boys who are in the year above me, chatting and laughing. One of them looks up briefly and glares at me, so I turn back to the school, but then I see _it_. I come to a complete stop.

My blood freezes.

There, at the edge of the school grounds, just outside the railings, is a dark, shadowy figure, draped in a black hood. The prickling sensation becomes so intense, it hurts. It's like a stinging throb from my shoulder blades up to the top of my throat, pulsing like an unquenched fire.

"Elanor… ELANOR!"

Louise's shouts startle me out of my thoughts, blackened by shadow, hidden in the gloom.

"What?" I ask, shaking my head to clear away the dark ideas that swarm about my mind.

"Come on, you were the one complaining about us not being on time."

But it's too late. My adventurous side has kicked in (Inherited from my father), and I just can't help myself. I stare once more at the shadow stood not too far from the gate.

"I… I'll catch up with you… you go ahead," I tell her, my eyes still on the mysterious figure.

"If you insist," She replies, before stalking off in a huff, her shoulders sagged.

I don't even watch her leave. I just walk forward, placing one foot in front of the other.

Soon I'm heading towards the mysterious, cloaked figure, enveloped by a dark abyss.

And I am not afraid.

**A/N**

**Hey again.**

**So, what did you think of the first chapter? Please leave a review to tell me what you think, and follow and favorite this story if it sparks your interest. Sorry to leave you on a cliffhanger on the first chapter, but I'll update ASAP is possible!**

**Thanks,**

**Sphinxy**


	2. Brief Encounters

**A/N**

**Hi there!**

**Here's the second chapter as promised, I hope your new year is going well and you've had a lovely Christmas.**

**Anyway, I'll shut up now.**

**Enjoy!**

**Thanks**

**Sphinxy**

Chapter 2

Brief Encounters

Each step I take towards the dark figure causes involuntary shivers to slither up my spine. As I edge closer, I can see that the figure is not much taller than me almost the size of an adolescent Hobbit. It's cloak sways gently as the wind rustles the silken fabric. Swathed by darkness, the shadow stands unmoving as I creep closer to it, my mind spinning, screaming at me to run, to get away from this unknown hooded creature of gloom. The figures face is obscured by folds of black and its head is bent, almost as if in shame, or maybe as if it has been saddened. Could it be sad? Is that really all there is too it? It has been known for hobbits in mourning to go for days clothed in black from head to furry foot, doing nothing but sulk in their empty void of nothingness and pain. But it doesn't seem right, and there have been no deaths in the village, news here spreads quickly, but nothing has been heard. As I approach the unknown creature, it stands taller, it's head now raised, though I still can't see its face.

I don't know why, but I feel a strange longing to reach out to this creature, comfort it, whatever it is. I keep moving towards it, almost without realizing it, it's billowing folds of ashen cloak beckoning me with a tinted madness…

I stop.

I am inches away from the mysterious figure, and even though I can't see its eyes, I know it's looking at me, piercing my skin with the intensity of its gaze. We stand there for a moment, a brief fleeting moment, unmoving, save the swish of silken fabric, died almost crimson in the light. Unknowingly, I lift my hand from my side and even though every instinct is telling me to run, sprint as fast as I can; I reach out towards the figure. Everything I know should prevent me from doing it, should tell me to stop and leave. I should be in the lecture hall now, listening to Professor Moorhenn analyse every aspect of a fruit fly and why it moves the way it does. I should be sat with Louise, giggling as she torments the poor woman and her particular style of teaching. I shouldn't be here. These thoughts buzz around my mind like a persistent swarm of bees, clustering about their hive, screaming at me, telling me what I should do. Instead I am stood inching closer to the unknown as an elusive susurrus settles around me. All I know has lead me to this moment, all I've ever been taught. Something so strange has never felt so inviting, so _familiar_. In this moment, I am free.

I am ready.

Suddenly, the figure twitches, moving away from my touch. It sees my motion and with a sudden flick and flourish of its cloak, the figure is gone. It simply vanishes. No trail, no trace, not even the slightest imprint in the humid earth, nothing. Just the empty space in which it was standing moments ago, unmoving, yet so out of reach. But even the air feels strange, as if a great sickness has fallen upon it.

When it is no longer there, I feet suddenly alone, suddenly empty, as if hollow inside. The silence that surrounds me is thick, and filled with hidden secrets, whispered by the breeze that chills my blood, freezing me to the core.

I think briefly of going after it, searching for it, hunting it down until my feet tire and my bones ache, but my less adventurous side, my mother's less adventurous side, starts to take effect, and I feel drained. Fear settles upon me like a darkened haze that cannot be lifted. A thick, treacle-like terror, embedded into my heart. The wind tickles the leaves that cling onto the oaken branches ahead of me, making them dance with a delight I shall never know. Birds chatter amongst the clouds, darting in and out of the ghostly wisps. But I do not hear them. In my ears, it's as if all sound has been drained from me, so that I am trapped in a foreboding nothing, cloaked in an unforgiving quiet.

I shut my eyes as another gust of wind hits, slapping my cheek with a torrent of cold. My hearing is suddenly returned, and the rustle of leaves fills my ears once more. My mind whirls in confusion, but I turn and walk through the gate, pushing the thoughts from my mind, blocking them out as best as I can. I jump as the gate closes behind me with a loud _clang!_ Butt continue down the path and into the school.

The doors to the lecture hall are of course closed, so instead of attempting to enter, I make my way into the courtyard and sit on the bench that wraps itself round the trunk of the great oak, that grows in the centre of the bricken crossroads. Taking out my sketchbook, I think over all that has happened, from waking up this morning, to the strange figure and its disappearance. I sketch absentmindedly, contemplating what occurred, and what I really should have done. My conscience scoffs as I realize I shall have to write a letter to Professor Moorhenn, apologising for my absence and asking for a set of detailed lecture notes. As I look down on my work, I see the face I have drawn holds a striking resemblance to that I once knew when I was young, one of recognition, but unknown curiosity.

Soon, the padding of footsteps echo around me as the lectures finish and classes are dismissed. Louise appears out of nowhere, giving me a fright, before she collapses in a fit of goggles. I try to join her, but my heart's not with it. She scolds me for leaving her alone with 'that dammed professor', before we head off to our next lecture. I don't know how she can be so lively in this situation, but somehow, she can find joy in even the darkest of times. Then again, she didn't see the dark figure, the ghostly apparition.

I did.

But I can't let it dampen Louise's mood, so I smile and laugh as we make our way inside the lecture hall.

Despite the dark cloud floating menacingly above my head.

**A/N**

**It's me again!**

**Well, that was the second chapter, please leave a review to tell me what you think and if you have any questions, then don't be afraid o PM me. Follow and favorite this story if you're enjoying it, and I'll be sure to try and update soon!**

**Many thanks,**

**Sphinxy**


	3. Rash Decisions

**A/N**

**Hello!**

**The next chapter's done and edited (Obviously), so go ahead and have a read if you feel like it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**Thanks,**

**Sphinxy**

Chapter 3

Rash Decisions

I wait until supper to talk about what happened earlier, although, I don't reveal everything to my parents, even though I should. My mum places a plateful of food in front of me and my father before sitting down with her own plate, and picking up her fork. I look down and see my plate is laden with lashings of pork, carrots, potatoes and a small array of mushrooms.

"Same type of mushrooms we found when Mr Frodo and I set out on our great adventure," my dad tells me and I look up to see he had already tucked into his supper. He takes a lengthy swig of his beer and grins at me. I smile back, although my smile doesn't reach my eyes, a pitiful resemblance of a smirk. I try to stay calm as possible as I sit and pick at my meal, but I can't keep the feeling of unknown terror from haunting my head, bringing nothing but fear and regret. I imagine what might have been hidden under the dark hood, a disfigured face, warped by age and timeless evil. Perhaps a troll, or demon, would appear from under the cloak, a pair of unforgiving red eyes, complete with lizard-like slits. Or maybe a young hobbit, morphed by a sorrow deeper than bone, or corrupted by a dark force. Either way, my mind is reeling with thoughts, thoughts any Hobbit would shy away from.

Suddenly, I see a dark shape out of the corner of my eye and whip round to see what it is. Luckily, it's only my dad's travelling cloak, hung up by the door, the delicate folds of fabric suspended from the floor, which just reminds my thoughts about the dark places they were in before. I shiver and shake the idea away, before tuning to my parents.

"Dad," I start, "I saw a figure in a dark cloak today, outside school." That was true enough. I _had_ seen a figure in a dark cloak today; I just didn't mention my brief encounter with it. Oh, and the fact I missed my history lecture…

Yeah.

"I hope you haven't been approaching strange figures, Elanor," My mother scolds me, so I blush and look away. The air becomes awkwardly still and I try to concentrate on eating my dinner, so as to avoid any unwanted conversations. My fork scrapes against the china with a screeching sound and I practically wince at the noise. My parents, however, continue munching their food. Well, until my dad speaks up.

"That'd probably be the _wanderer_," My dad says, a dramatic edge to his voice, "They say he roams the Shire, looking for a companion. Someone to accompany him on is travels."

My mum shakes her head with an air of impatience, her hair flying wildly about her face in a tangle of curls. She finishes her mouthful and tutts before speaking.

"Now Sam-Wise Gamgee, you stop that right now, I don't want you filling her head full of stories," Mother says scolding him, "No more adventures, okay?"

My dad smiles sheepishly and a small blush dies along his throat.

"Of course," He tells her, but I can see the glint in his eye, telling me otherwise. As always, my mother doesn't notice, so my dad continues eating and silence once again falls upon the dining room. From out of the open window, only sounds of the birds and the odd farmer's shout can be heard across the picturesque fields and view. I feel myself finally relax, now the nagging feeling of fear of the unknown has been dampened, at least I now know it wasn't some evil thing trying to claim my soul I saw earlier.

There is a sudden knock at the door and my mother gets up to see who it is. I hear her footsteps slowly recede down the corridor. The moment she's gone, my father lays down his fork and looks me straight in the eye.

"You really saw him?" He asks, eager to know more.

"Yes," I tell him honestly, I know I can trust my dad to know, "I stood in front of him. I almost touched him, dad. But he disappeared when I tried to reach out to him. Who is he dad?"

"Well, I heard down at the green dragon he's searching for a hobbit to join him on an adventure, an adventure into the old world, the land of ancient time."

My eyes literally light up at his words, I'm sure of it. My heart pounds in my chest as my adventurous nature flares up once more. It's like an unquenchable fire in my chest and mind, the flames slowly licking around my body, resonating through my entire being.

The sounds of my mother greeting someone drift into the kitchen, and my whole body tenses. The thought of being trapped here, unable to leave and dampen the fire, makes me want to scream. I long to run, to feel the wind rush past my face and whip my hair into a tangled mess of ribbons. I wish to feel the air swarm around me as I stand and let the quest run through my veins. I look to my dad for guidance, in hope he can save me from the burning fear of being grounded, held down against my will, away from the thrill of a wondrous voyage.

"Go out the back door," My father tells me, waving towards the door, "Go have your own adventure."

I turn to see him smile once more, before racing out of the door, without looking back.

**A/N**

**It's me again.**

**What did you think of this chapter then? I know it's a little short, but I don't think I could lengthen it anymore even if I tried (And trust me, I have!). Please leave me a review with your thoughts and follow and favorite this story if you want to! It helps loads!**

**Thanks,**

**Sphinxy**


	4. First Impressions

**A/N**

**Hi all!**

**As you can see, I've finished tweaking chapter 4, so here it is for your eyes to enjoy!**

**Thanks,**

**Sphinxy**

Chapter 4

First Impressions

I don't have to go far to find the mysterious figure, but it feels like hours before I spot it. I see the dark billowing cloak at the edge of the forest, a reminder of the task at hand, but not before my mind explores the darkness once more. This time however, I'm prepared. I approach the figure cautiously now; afraid it might disappear like it did before, vanish and leave me baffled in its wake. Its head is no longer bent, but I'm still cautious, I can feel its heated gaze from afar. My adventurous side awakens once more and my pace quickens until I stand inches from the figure, its cloak flying out around me, inviting and welcoming. I feel the same urge as last time to reach out to it, to comfort it and I just can't help myself.

But it's different this time.

As I raise my arm, the figure stays where it is. I lift my hand to the hood of its cloak and it flinches, but remains still. My fingertip brushes the material, but only momentarily, for a hand, a firm but gentle hand, grasps my wrist and stops me. Carefully, it pushes my hand away, keeping hold of my wrist. I look to find the hand snaking out from under the cloak of the mysterious figure. It lowers my hand and releases its grip, before turning away and heading into the forest, slowly this time.

"Wait!" I yell, unable to contain myself. Fear and excitement build up inside me at the thought of following, but I daren't move as the shadow turns to face me. I am surprised when it speaks, its voice as soft and quiet as the breeze that swirls around me, stealing my breath away.

"Come," It commands. _He_ commands. I can tell by his voice. A deep purr that rumbles around me and I find myself standing taller, more indignant in his presence. My mother's snooty nature suddenly makes an appearance and I hold my head high, blinking slowly.

"Where?" I ask, my voice taking a rather snobbish tone.

"Come," The figure repeats, softer this time. It's voice curls around my mind like an elegant smoke, winding its way through the darkness and bringing a sudden warmth and light into my shadowed heart. He extends his hand, but withdraws it as I go to take it, then he continues through the forest.

I watch him as we pick our way through the woods. He helps me over each obstacle as we encounter them; fallen trees, large rocks, even a small stream. Emerald, chartreuse and viridian fill my vision as I amble, a stunning array of green dotted about my eyes. The leaves rustle gently above, the dying sunlight dapples the ground under the great canopy, a tangle of foliage and branches that form a great web. Birds dart about the topmost branches and other small creatures scurry along through the bushes at my feet. Even the insects chirp their cheery chorus as we pass. It's as if the whole forest is alive with sound, colour and beauty. I trail my hand alon the bark of the trees we pass, the textures forming patterns in my mind. I look up and see the thin wisps of cloud drift across the ever-changing blue, undisturbed by all. Even as the air thickens with a new humidity, I feel only an un-quavering calmness, as if my whole body is at peace. Even the figure ahead seems filled with life, despite the dark cloak. The moon hangs low in the sky, visible even in the fading light, cast by the many rays of sun that spread across the land. I look back to see where we've come from, but see only undisturbed forest. Yet this time, I am not afraid. Twigs crackle and crunch underfoot, as I duck and dive under low hanging branches and overgrown shrubs.

I sigh as the sun kisses my face with delicate warmth, and continue on through the everlasting green. We travel through the forest until we reach a clearing; a small meadow in fact, surrounded by huge oak trees, their boughs forming arches around us. I turn slowly and watch the wind rush through the oaken branches of the trees, making them creak and crack in a frenzied dance. Suddenly, I have a strange sense of freedom, like a once caged bird that's just been released to soar onto the blue. I smile and close my eyes, stretching my arms wide.

"Wow," Is all I can manage as I open my eyes and gaze around at my surroundings. Sunlight pours into the clearing, no longer stopped by a thick blanket of leaves. The hooded figure chuckles underneath his cloak, sending ripples running down the fabric.

"Who are you?" I ask, unafraid of the answer. I can almost _feel_ the tension as he thinks, the cogs in his brain whirring as he stands, unmoving. My gaze does not quaver, my posture tall, my face holding an almost proud expression. He walks over to me then, until we are opposite each other, his head bent, level with mine. I lift my hand up to his cloak once more and this time he does not shy away from my touch. I shiver involuntary, not from the cold, nor the fear I know should be present. Gently, I grasp the fabric in my hand and slowly lift it from his face, revealing the creature under it.

Nothing could compare me to what comes next.

I let out an involuntary gasp as I stare into a face I know all too well, a face I'd seen not too long ago. My whole body shudders as I gaze into the ice blue eyes that sit upon the mantle above the fire.

"Mr Frodo? What in the blazes happened to you?"

**A/N**

**Well? What do you think? **

**Don't hate me for leaving you on a cliff hanger, I'll try to update quickly so that you're not on tenterhooks for too long...**

**Anyway, leave a review telling me what you think, and follow/favorite this story to get notifications when the next update happens!**

**Thanks,**

**Sphinxy**


	5. The Real Hero

**A/N**

**Hey everyone!**

**Here's the next chapter as promised, lengthened and improved. I hope you all enjoy reading it and don't forget to check out my other fics!**

**Thanks,**

**Sphinxy**

Chapter 5

The Real Hero

"Mr Frodo? What in the blazes happened to you?" I ask, my voice shaking with the shock. I know it's him. His face sits upon the mantle back home, lit up by the glowing embers of a dying fire. But he looks different, younger in fact, a little older than myself. There is also a long white scar slicing across the flesh of his left cheek. His hair hangs low over his eyes, matted with dirt and a crimson liquid that vaguely resembles blood.

"I ran into some trouble on my last adventure," He tells me and even his voice sounds young, not weary like my father's, "Gandalf didn't realise what would happen to any ring bearers after the ring was destroyed. It happened to Bilbo, and it would have happened to Gollum too, if he were alive still."

"What would have happened?" I ask confused as to what he speaks of. All I know of him is that he bore the ring to Mount Doom, before losing his mind to the sickness of the tainted gold. My dad told me he'd almost died, that a creature named Gollum, who had kept the ring prior to Frodo, had craved its power so much he had torn Frodo's finger off with his own teeth, in an attempt to retrieve it. Unfortunately for him, he tripped and fell into the mountain's fiery depths, and was claimed by the fading soul of Sauron. My dad, however, saved Frodo from suffering the same fate, as the rocky arrowhead that reached to the sky, destroyed itself. I look down and see Frodo's third finger is missing, the skin at the tip of the stump a jagged edge of skin. My index finger runs over my own hand, lingering on the same finger Frodo lost. I almost wince as I imagine how painful it must have been to lose it, especially since its edge is so uneven.

"You see, once the ring was destroyed, it put all of those who were affected by I back to how they were before they came into contact with the ring. Even Bilbo is younger, 50 years old as a matter of fact. It started to take effect not long after we arrived at Rivendell. I started to get shorter, whilst Bilbo started to grow! Even Gandalf was shocked by it. It was just so sudden!"

"Has it finished? The whole 'changing back' thing?" I ask before I can stop myself, and curse my father's inquisitiveness. Frodo simply chuckles.

"Not quite," He tells me, holding up his right hand, showing me the stump where his third finger should be, "Well, I am aged as I was when Bilbo first left me the ring, but I have still not gained my finger. I fear I never will, as does Gandalf. It may never grow back, as I was maimed by another bearer, a bearer who is no longer of this world, this time."

His face is dark, solemn almost. Long shadows are cast across his eyes, making them startlingly bright, the electric blue more piercing than ever. My own eyes are once again drawn to the thin, pale scar running across his face, almost warping his pointed features.

"How did you get the scar?" I ask him, his eyes on mine, "Did you have it before you were given the ring?"

"Of course not!" He snickers, "I ran into a pack of rogue Wargs and the alpha turned vicious and ordered the males strike me dead. He wished to display my head over the mouth of his cave, for I smelled faintly f another that had wounded their tribe. Luckily Gandalf was there to save me, and also inform me that their threats referred to Bilbo and his encounter with them whilst in the company of dwarves."

"Gandalf?! Oh! Is he with you now?" I exclaim with delight. After father's tales of his braveries and of course his excellency in the trade of fireworks =, I've always hoped of meeting him.

"I'm afraid not, he had other business to attend to. Some trouble up in the North I suspect. I just hope he's alright."

"You must come and see father!" I exclaim, "He'll want to see that you're well!"

"Not yet, Elanor, not yet. There's something I need to take care of first." My face falls.

"What's that?" I ask, I see my curious side is still awake.

"I wish to see my old house, Bilbo's old house. I would rather much like it back. Although, I'm not sure of how long I'll be staying there."

"Why?" I ask, unsure of where he'll be leaving for next. My father was so distraught after his departure last time; I don't know how he'll react. I remember when he came home and took me in his arms. He seemed happy, seemed normal, but that night, I found myself restless, unable to find sleep's comforting blanket, and when I went to find my parents, to tell them, I found my father sat on his bed, my mother's arm around him as she perched by his side. His whole body was shaking, and a strange whimpering sound was resonating from him. Confused, I moved closer, to see what was happening. To my horror, I found he was weeping, wailing Frodo's name over and over again, his tear streaked face bent in sorrow, his forehead just brushing his knees. He covered his face in his hands, and whimpered something that vaguely resembled 'All my fault', before sobbing once more. My mum tried to comfort him, to hush him with gentle murmurs, but nothing worked. I couldn't bear it anymore, so I turned away, the image of his puffy, red eyes embedded into my mind.

I turn my head, turning away from the memory like a bad dream. Frodo's sudden reply is almost enough to make me jump and it pulls me from my woe-ridden state. I look up as he speaks; hoping he can comfort me, bring me from this deep rooted depression. Somehow, I find consolation in his stormy eyes and almost smile at what he says.

"You'll find out soon enough."

**A/N**

**Okay,**

**So what do you think? Where do you think Frodo may b going? Do you think he'll visit Sam before he goes? **

**Please leave a review and also follow and favorite this story if you want to know when I update next!**

**Thanks again!**

**Sphinxy**


	6. The Council of Frodo

**A/N**

**Hey all, it's me again!**

**So, here's the next chapter for all you lovely readers, I hope you enjoy!**

**Sphinxy**

Chapter 6

The Council of Frodo

When I return home it is long since darkness fell and my mother is waiting for me.

"And where in middle earth have you been?" She demands as I walk through the door, "I've been worried sick!"

At this, my father appears around the corner, but seeing my mother, he swiftly disappears again, knowing all too well not to get involved when she's full of rage.

"I, um, I was with Louise," I say, but it's more of a question than a statement. My mum raises her eyebrows and I smile as best I can to try and avert suspicion. My mother sighs, before continuing her questioning.

"At this time of night?" She questions, "You should know better Elanor, you've given me such a fright."

"I'm sorry mother," I apologize and my mum closes her eyes, thinking things over.

"To your room," She commands me, "I don't want to hear another word of it."

I sigh and trudge off to my bedroom, without breathing another word. Opening my door, I am hit with a blast of cold air, and notice immediately my window is open wide. I must have neglected to shut it this morning. I wince as another icy breath is cast across the bare skin of my arms, causing rippling pimples to flee up them.

Ignoring the cold as best as I can, I move over to my desk, upon which my dad's book sits. I am inked into its many pages, my story woven into the leafy paper, yellow with age. Next to it, a less full book resides, bound by a leathery case. I sit down and open the smaller book, turning to the last written page, my spidery handwriting curling about the paper, like a delicate web. Then I flick through the other pages, reading what is written there. Unhappy, I tear the pages from their bed, tossing them to one side. Instead, I pull out my sketchbook, and turn to the drawing I was working on earlier, before deciding my room is too dark to work in. So I light a few candles, and scatter them about my desk, almost forming a shrine of light. Then I take up my pencil and begin to sketch. The lead barely tickles the paper as delicate patterns are embossed into the sheet.

I sigh once more.

"Hey!"

I jump and spin round to see Frodo at the window, a phial of glowing liquid in his hand. I relax as I see it's him, a wave of relief washing over me. I blink away the sudden blinding light cast by the liquid in his hand.

"What is that?" I whisper, glancing towards his hand.

"It is the Phial of Galadriel," He explains, "It can be used as a source of light in dark places."

We stand in silence for a few minutes before he breaks it, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Well, are you coming or what?"

"Where are we going?" I ask, curious as to where he would want to take me now. Back to his newly reclaimed house perhaps? Or maybe we'll travel outside the Shire, and go all the way to Rivendell. I am both excited and terrified at the thought, but push it away at a near impossibility.

"Why back to the forest of course! I need to show you something," Frodo replies, and my hear sinks. _Not_ outside the shire after all. Then realisation dawns on me.

"But, what if my mother finds out?" I ask, "She's sure to come and check on me."

"Here," He hands me a small leather bag, and I stare at it in confusion. How is a small pouch going to stop my mother finding out I'm missing. Unless he's suggesting I use its contents to poison her. I shudder at the thought and am shocked he would suggest such a thing. But I ask all the same.

"What is it?"

"I was never given its name," He tells me, and it sets my teeth on edge, "I was simply told that if you throw it into the air, it will give a person or people the illusion that you are there, even when you're not."

Oh.

I almost laugh at my own stupidity and roll my eyes in the near-darkness.

"How long does it last?" I question and Frodo looks up into my eyes.

"Until you enter the room," He explains. His eyes are filled with a sudden eagerness, an eagerness I've only ever seen in my father when speaking of his great adventure.

I open the pouch and inside there is a silvery powder that shimmers softly in the light of the phial. I pinch a small amount between my fingertip and thumb before tossing it up into the air. It glistens momentarily in the moonlight, before settling above me, a layer of illusion.

Frodo extends his hand through the open window and I take it gratefully as I step out into the moonlit night. The stars sparkle above us as we make our way towards the forest once more. All is quiet as we make our way across the picturesque landscape, heading towards the dark patch of green, growing in the distance. The moon casts a silvery path before us, a road of shimmering starlight.

We tread lightly as we edge closer to the sounds of chattering birds, to the chorus of chirping crickets. They serenade us as the darkness envelopes us, halted by a spotlight of a silvery glow, that seems fixated on us. I smile, and shut my eyes when we reach the top of the hill, my arms stretched wide. I pull my hair free from its pinned confines, yanking the delicate elvin broach from my thick, bushy hair, letting the spiral-like curls spill over my back with a soft bounce. Then I sigh and set off at a run down the grassy slope, laughter bubbling from my lips. Soon I hear the thudding of footsteps behind me and a deep chuckle ripples about me.

Frodo is by my side, as exhilarated as I. When we reach the base, I stop suddenly and sit down, bathed in starlight. Frodo joins me, panting and breathless. My dress is flowing about me, in rich crimson billows. My hair is a mess of tangled ribbons, hanging low over my shoulders. A loose strand covers my eyes, and I hastily tuck it behind my ear. I look to my right, and see Frodo smiling at me, his eyes bright and excited.

"Come," He murmurs.

**A/N**

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**Sphinxy**


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